


Greg Lestrade's No Good Very Bad Day

by janto321 (FaceofMer)



Series: The Fluffy Rug [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BAMF Greg Lestrade, Bad Days, Developing Relationship, Gen, Kidnapping, Mycroft Being Mycroft, Surprisingly Fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-18
Updated: 2017-08-18
Packaged: 2018-12-16 20:09:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11836146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaceofMer/pseuds/janto321
Summary: A bad day, a kidnapping and a very nice rug. Or: Why you should check the mysterious black sedan before getting In.





	Greg Lestrade's No Good Very Bad Day

Generally speaking, Greg was a pleasant man to be around. He was a good boss, got his work done, and even on the cases that went badly, still did his best to make sure his people were taken care of.

Today, though, wasn’t a good day.

Greg scowled into his coffee as he listened to Sally, seeing the man they’d arrested a few weeks ago walk out of the courthouse a free man. Justice wasn’t always fair of course, and he was still reasonably certain of his guilt, but a jury had decided otherwise.

“Greg?” Sally got his attention. “You stopped listening.”

“Sorry,” said Greg, turning his back on the courtroom and looking back to her. “The Wicksham case, yeah? Go on.”

Sally went over the details of the case. Greg had a bad feeling this one wasn’t going to go well either, but still gave her a bit of advice before retreating back to his office.

He tripped and spilled his coffee getting to his desk.

While he was cleaning it up, his boss came in to complain about some misfiled paperwork.

As Greg threw his trash away they got a call that a suspect had been sighted. But by the time they got there he’d slipped away again.

Greg kicked a dumpster.

Sally gave him a sympathetic look. “Why don’t you go home? I’ll finish up the paperwork.”

Scrubbing his hands through his hair, Greg sighed. “Alright. I’m just going to walk. I’ll get the keys from you tomorrow.”

“See you,” said Sally as he walked away.

Of course two blocks away it started raining, and then he got splashed by a car while crossing the street. 

“For fuck's sake,” growled Greg. “Did I piss off a God or something today?”

Almost as if on cue, a black car pulled up to the kerb.

“Mycroft, I swear to God...” said Greg, yanking open the door.

It wasn’t Mycroft. He looked down the barrel of a gun instead. “Get in, Inspector,” the man holding it said.

A heavy hand landed on his shoulder, severely limiting Greg’s options. Huffing, Greg got in, taking some satisfaction in knowing he was leaving the seats damp. The other goon got in after him.

The car pulled away from the kerb. “Your wrists,” said the man holding the gun. 

Greg considered elbowing him, but the shot could go anywhere in the car, and he’d rather not have his brains splattered. Though that would be the perfect capper to the day. He held out his wrists and the other goon zip tied them together.

“Any particular reason for kidnapping an NSY officer in broad daylight?” he asked conversationally.

“You’ll find out soon enough.” 

Greg resisted rolling his eyes and tried to look out the window and get some sense of where they were going, but the windows were heavily tinted. 

Finally, they pulled into a parking garage. Greg was yanked out of the car and into an elevator. He couldn’t help but think that their destination was a lot fancier than wherever Mycroft usually had him hauled off to.

The doors opened and he was pushed into a rather posh penthouse apartment with an enviable view of London and a modern minimalist style. Greg thought it would be a bit of a shame to get blood on the no-doubt expensive fluffy, white rug, but he had a feeling that the man still holding the gun on him wouldn’t hesitate.

A door opened and closed and a man he hadn’t seen in quite some time stepped into view, holding a glass of scotch, swirling the ice cubes.

“Jefferies,” said Greg, looking him over. “See you got out of prison.” The man had a new scar on his cheek.

“Technicality,” he said, sitting in a leather chair. “Seems there was some mishandling of the evidence.”

“Oh how convenient,” said Greg. “Kidnapping will probably stick a bit better.”

“If you live that long.” Jeffries nodded and the bigger goon pushed him to his knees on the nice rug. Greg heard the gun cock but didn’t flinch.

“Right, murder is _much_ better than kidnapping,” he said sarcastically. “If you’re going to shoot me, I’d get it over with. I’ve already had a bad day and I’m lacking patience.” Greg shifted a bit, hearing the man with the gun move a little closer.

Jefferies scoffed and sipped his scotch. “Never change, do you, Lestrade? I heard about your wife. Shame, really.”

Greg flexed his hands. “Over and done with. How about you, Jefferies? I take it your wife didn’t handle the whole jail thing very well. Or was it learning her husband was a drug trafficker?”

Leaning forward, Jefferies regarded him. “Perhaps we’re not so different. At least in our taste of women, no?”

Greg shrugged. “Women, maybe. I do think my day job is a bit different. See you went right back to yours.”

“More or less. And see, there’s a certain Detective Inspector that I don’t want interfering with my work. He was quite a pain in my arse before. Too bad he’s so distraught over his wife leaving him.”

Now it was Greg’s turn to scoff. “You think they’d buy a suicide? In a place like this? On this nice, fluffy rug?”

“Perhaps a nice young lady took you home.” He looked up at the man with the gun. Greg could feel it inches from his temple. _Perfect_.

In a split second, Greg rolled into the man’s legs. The gun went off and he heard the bigger goon curse. Greg found his feet, grasped his hands together and swung at Jefferies as he stood and came at him.

Suddenly the elevator doors opened and a handful of spooks swept into the place, quickly securing the kidnappers and Jefferies.

“Took you long enough,” growled Greg, turning as Mycroft stepped out of the elevator, umbrella in his hand.

“Had a bit of trouble locating you once we realized what had occurred,” said Mycroft, accepting a knife from one of his people and cutting Greg free.

“You and your bloody black cars. I thought it was you until I realized there was a gun in my face.”

“My apologies,” said Mycroft politely as Greg rubbed his wrists. 

“You going to handle this or are we?” asked Greg as the three men were bundled into the elevator.

“Oh, I think we’ll handle him this time. There are a number of international crimes he’s under suspicion of. And fewer….technicalities.”

Greg huffed and walked across the room, finding the bar and helping himself to a drink. “Good, then I’m not worried about messing up a crime scene.” He threw back half a glass of the expensive scotch as the two of them were left alone.

Once the doors closed Mycroft’s mask slipped and he crossed to Greg. “Are you alright?” he asked, with sincere concern in his voice.

Greg regarded him and sipped his drink. “Well I had a shitty day and I was about half a minute from having my brains blown out, so no, not exactly.”

“I am sorry,” said Mycroft, fidgeting with his umbrella. “Though in my defense, one should generally look into a car before making assumptions.”

“Or you could start picking people up in a blue minivan,” grumbled Greg. “You and your need to be dramatic. Thanks, though. Good timing.”

“I am glad we were not later.” Mycroft took a breath. “Perhaps instead of having you picked up, you should join me for dinner.”

Greg raised an eyebrow at him. “Are you asking me on a date?”

“Consider it an apology,” said Mycroft.

“How about I consider it a date, _and_ I accept your apology.” Greg finished his drink and put down the glass.

“Acceptable to me,” said Mycroft. “May I see you home?”

“Got any cars in colors other than black?”

“Is burgundy acceptable?” 

“It’ll do.” Greg came around the bar, bent down, and started rolling up the rug, quite glad it had avoided any bloodstains.

“Should I ask what you’re doing?” asked Mycroft.

“You’re handling this case, it’s not an active crime scene, and it would be a shame for this rug to go to waste.”

Mycroft pulled out his mobile to text for a car. “It is a nice rug,” he admitted. “I could get you one just like it.”

“Nope, I’m taking this one home,” said Greg in a tone that brooked no argument.

Mycroft inclined his head. “Very well. We can go by your flat, drop off the rug, and then perhaps dinner?”

“Good. You’re buying.”

“Yes, of course.” Mycroft led the way into the elevator. Greg shifted the rug, thinking that this day had been terrible, but the night might not turn out too bad.

**Author's Note:**

> Much thanks to theartstudentyouhate for reading along. And for sending this fic on an unplanned, but enjoyable left turn.
> 
> You can find me on tumblr at [merindab](https://merindab.tumblr.com)
> 
> Considering adding a second chapter/sequel...


End file.
